


Midnight Repertoire

by TantalumCobalt



Series: It's a Twin Thing [1]
Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Brother fic, Brotherly feels, Clint and Will are twins, Clint is an awesome older brother, Crossover, Gen, Pre-Ghost Protocol, Pretty much pre-everything, because why not, deaf!Clint, partiallyblind!Will, pre-avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3733312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TantalumCobalt/pseuds/TantalumCobalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is secretly a worrywart, Norah Barton is not-so-secretly amused by her sons, and Will just needs coffee.</p><p>Or</p><p>The one where Clint calls Will at three in the morning to check up on him because he's an awesome older brother like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Repertoire

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!
> 
> This is my first story for these two fandoms so I hope it isn't too disappointing. I am absolutely in love with the idea of Clint and Will being brothers and I have several other stories in the works so this will hopefully turn into a series sometime soon :) In my headcannon Clint is the older twin and both boys had a relatively happy childhood.
> 
> This story is set before before everything that's happened in the MCU and Mission Impossible and Will and Clint are somewhere in their early twenties.
> 
> This work is un-beta'd but I do plan to go back over and edit it soon.
> 
> Enjoy!

Will guesses that the phone has been ringing for a while before it pulls him from sleep.

“E'Lo?” He mumbles into the receiver, eyes straining to read the blurry numbers of the alarm clock on his bedside table. Absently, he wishes he hadn't left his glasses in the kitchen last night.

 _“Hey Will, how's it going?”_ His brother's voice is abnormally cheery for... Whatever time it is. Will wonders if his lookalike is on the other side of the world in a country where the sun is shining, or if he's calling in the middle of the night from his perch in New York just to be annoying. With Clint, either option could be true.

“Clint? Why are you calling me at...” He trails off when he realises that he still doesn't know what time it is.

 _“3:47.”_ Clint supplies.

“Why are you calling me at three-forty-something in the morning?” Will pushes himself up to lean against the headboard. He has a feeling this is going to be a long phone call.

_“Well it's only three-forty-something where you are. It's nine forty-something here.”_

“Huh.” So Clint isn't calling in the middle of the night just to be annoying. “And here is...?”

_“Budapest.”_

One of Will's eyebrows climbs towards his hairline. “Isn't that where-?”

_“Yep.”_

“And didn't-“

_“Yep.”_

Will pauses to think that over, then; “You hate Budapest.”

Almost five thousand miles across the world, Clint sighs. _“I know. Coulson's being mean.”_

Will hears Coulson muttering on the end of the line. Something about temperamental archers and long-suffering grudges. Then, louder, _“Wasn't Monaco repayment enough?”_

Will smothers a laugh when Clint heatedly replies with; _“How could you think that three plates of pancakes and a bright yellow uniform would make up for it?”_

 _“I let you keep the uniform!”_ Coulson retorts.

Will laughs. Only Clint would want to keep a bright yellow jumpsuit from a mission. “Did you just call me to complain? ‘Cause if you did I’m going to hang up, some of us like to sleep, you know.”

 _“Nah,”_ Clint’s voice turns serious in a heartbeat. _“I called to see how you’re doing.”_

Will shifts uncomfortably on the bed, even though he knows his brother can’t see him. “I’m doing fine.”

Over the phone there is the sound of footsteps and muffled voices, then a door slams and all is silent except for Clint’s soft breathing. _“Don’t lie to me, Will,”_ he says. Will is really starting to hate how serious his older brother’s voice sounds, so unlike Clint and just so not right that it makes him cringe.

“Clint, I’m-“

_“If the next word out of your mouth is ‘fine’ I swear to God I will sic Natasha on you the next time she’s in DC. And she still holds a grudge from Thanksgiving so I guarantee her revenge will be slow and painful.”_

Will swallows. Thanksgiving is still somewhat of a taboo word between the brothers, and Will is not afraid to admit that a pissed off Natasha with a grudge scares the shit out of him; he's only human after all. “I'm not lying,” he says eventually. “I’ve been eating home cooked meals, and I’ve been helping dad replace all the fly screen, when mum isn’t forcing me to rest, that is. Hell, I even did a puzzle yesterday, Clint. I’m fine.”

 _“Have you been sleeping?”_ Clint asks, and Will cannot help but roll his eyes.

“I was until you called me.”

 _“Will.”_ Clint's voice is most definitely not a whine. _“Don't pretend like this is all my fault.”_

Will lets his gaze wander around the mostly-dark room; only the thin moonlight from behind the cloud cover is there to take the edge off the shadows. He debates leaving the warmth of his bed to retrieve his glasses, or rifling through his bathroom cupboard in search of the spare contact lenses he's sure are in there somewhere. A few seconds later and the moonlit bedroom still doesn't reveal any answers; as to whether he's going to need to be able to see properly in the next half hour, or who else could be at fault for his midnight phone call.

“Who else's fault could it be?” He responds eventually.

_“Yours.”_

Will raises an eyebrow at the mirror above the old wooden dresser. He can almost imagine it's his brother starring back at him. “How is it my fault?” he hisses, keenly aware of his parents sleeping in the next bedroom and trying to be quiet so his dad doesn't come bursting in with a shotgun like last time. “I was sleeping!”

There's more shuffling on the other end of the line and Will lets his thoughts drift; imaging Clint pulling weapons out of bags, polishing his favourite bow (the one Will bought him for his birthday two years ago), meticulously checking and reloading his many pistols, cleaning blood off sharp throwing daggers. He swallows at the image of dripping blood, running in rivulets down the side of-

Stop! Don't go there!

 _“-ey, Will! You there? Will, come on, talk to me.”_ Clint's frantic voice pulls him back. _“Come on man, if you don't answer me I swear to god I'll-“_

“Kill me?” Will takes a shaky breath, running his hand through his sleep mussed hair.

The attempt at a joke falls flat. _“That's not funny.”_

Will rolls his eyes because even though it really isn't he needs to pretend it is, for the sake of his sanity. “Clint-“

 _“Don't.”_ Clint's voice is strained. “ _I read the medical reports, Will, and if you even think about trying to tell me you're fine-“_ He chokes off and takes a deep breath. _“You're not allowed to die, okay? Promise me that. Promise you won't die.”_

“Clint..” Will hesitates. Clint isn't supposed to cry, he's the strong one, the unsentimental one. Clint's not allowed to cry. “You know what we do, bro. You've read the job description, hell you live it. You know I can't promise that.”

Clint is silent for so long it makes Will uncomfortable. He fumbles for the bedside lamp and screws his eyes shut when he finally clicks it on and bright light floods the small room. He'd forgotten what it was like to sleep in his own bed, what it was like to be home. It's been almost two years since he'd visited his parents in their country home in the back woods of Iowa, and now that he's here he realises just how much he's missed home cooked meals and his mother's hugs.

_“Yeah, I know.”_

“Fuck.” Will drags a hand down his face. “It's too late - early, whatever - for this shit.” He throws off the covers and slides out of bed, almost slipping on the cold hardwood floor. “I need coffee.”

Clint huffs a shaky laugh. _“Coulson won't let me have more than two coffees an hour while on duty.”_

Will employs his super spy skills to quietly open his bedroom door and walk silently down the hallway, taking care to avoid the boards that creak, and into the kitchen before daring to speak. The last thing he needs is his overprotective parents entering the scene to fuss over why he's awake at this ungodly hour.

He can imagine it already. His mother making him tea and petting his hair, while is father splashes whiskey in the tea and winks at him while his mother isn't looking. His mother's mellow, soothing voice; “you're all right, Will darling, you're safe here.” And his father's gruff reassurances as he pats Will on the back; “you're still alive, son, and that's what matters.”

 _“You still there, Willy?”_ Clint's voice is almost a whisper.

“Don't call me Willy, Clinton,” Will retorts, but there's no real heat behind it. “What are you doing anyway? Isn't there a strict no personal phone call's on missions rule?”

He knows there is because it's partially his fault they had to enforce it. There's a click on the other end that Will guesses is the cocking of a rifle. _“I told Coulson you were in hospital and he promised not to tell on me.”_

Will snorts. He grabs a mug from the cupboard above his head and spoons coffee and sugar into it while the kettle boils. “I was discharged three days ago. Why didn't you call me then?”

 _“Things came up.”_ Will doesn't have to be there to visualise his brother's shrug. _“You know how pesky Hungarian drug lords can be.”_

Will snickers. “More than you know, bro.”

The kettle whistles and Will demonstrates his profound abity to cuss in numerous languages as he fumbles for the off switch. He winces in the silence that follows, then the still quiet is interrupted when Clint bursts out laughing. “Shut up,” Will mutters.

Clint doesn't shut up though. He just keeps laughing, and the part of Will that isn't waiting apprehensively for the sound of his parents footsteps down the hall worries that hIs brother might not be able to breathe.

“Will? Honey?” Norah Barton's voice floats down the hall. “Is everything alright?”

“Fuck you, Clint,” Will mutters, glancing over his shoulder to see his mother appear in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “It's not funny.”

Clint's laughter reaches near hysterical levels when their mothers asks “what's not funny, dear?” And there is a clatter as Clint presumably drops the phone, and when it's picked up Will hears a much calmer voice.

 _“If you continue to excite my agent while he's working, I'm afraid I'll have to disconnect you Agent Brandt,”_ Coulson says.

A smile tugs at Will's split lip. “Nice to hear your voice too, Agent Coulson. Has Clint been behaving himself?”

“Oh, is that Clint?” his mother asks, coming over to get her own mug from the cupboard.

“Coulson,” Will mouths, moving away to sit at the table.

 _“As much as usual.”_ Translation: not at all. _“He's been worried about you, William. Said you landed yourself in the hospital.”_

“Yeah,” Will watches his mother pour water over her tea bag and sit the mug on the table before going to the fridge for milk. No matter how many times Will insists that Coulson call him Will, the older man refuses to address him as anything other than 'William' or 'Agent Brandt'. “A concussion, a few cracked ribs, punctured lung, a busted knee and some cuts and bruises. Nothing major.”

 _“Hmm. I was under the impression that you were on your deathbed,”_ Coulson responds. _“Hold on one moment, William.”_

There's a thump and Clint's background laughter cuts off. While Coulson is wrangling his brother, Will turns his attention to his mother sitting opposite him.

“Sorry I woke you,” he offers when she continues to watch him over the rim of her mug.

She smiles her mother smile. The one that screams 'I'm a mother and one of my babies is in pain but it's okay because I can make it better.' "It’s not a problem, dear. I was already awake anyway.” Will doesn’t need her to say it to know that she’d been awake listening for any sounds to tell her that her baby (because it doesn’t matter how old they are, or what they do for a living, Clint and Will are always going to be her babies) needs her.

“I think you need to have a talk with Clint about appropriate calling times,” Will says.

Norah giggles. “Is this payback for the time you called him in the middle of that op with the killer monkeys to wish him a happy birthday? He got such a chewing out about taking personal phone calls while under fire for that!”

Will narrows his eyes. “How do you know about that?”

His mother winks. “A mother has her ways, darling,” she replies.

 _“Ow, Coulson!”_ Clint’s fuming voice stops Will from interrogating his mother on the who, what, when, where, why and how of her information source. _“Was that really necessary?”_

Will grins. Just the sound of his twin’s voice (yes, even the whining) is enough to put him at ease. He feels himself relax further in his chair, slumping back against the hard wooden back. He’s content just to listen to Clint and Coulson’s banter and pretend that his brother is in the next room, not thousands of miles away across the oceans.

 _“When are they letting you back in the field?”_ Clint asks a minute later, having properly subdued his enemy (i.e. told Coulson to piss off).

Will shrugs. “When I can shoot straight.”

_“So, never?”_

“The IMF’s idea of shooting straight is a bit more practical than yours, brother mine.”

 _“Is that a challenge?”_ Clint sounds positively gleeful.

Will snorts. “I know better than to challenge you to a shooting competition.”

_“Aww, but Willy.”_

Will flicks at the sleeve of his t-shirt. “You know, that doesn’t annoy me as much as you seem to think it does.”

Clint snickers. _“Yes it does.”_ He’s right, but there is no way in hell Will is going to tell him that.

Will can see his mother hiding a smile behind her tea, either happy to see him happy or childishly amused by his older brother. Clint’s always had that affect on people; making them think he’s hilarious but not remembering why it was actually funny afterwards. It's something that's bugged Will since early childhood because he's the only who realises Clint _isn't that funny_.

 _"Is mum there?"_ Clint asks.

Will nods, then remembers that his twin isn't there with him (no matter how much he wants him to be). "Yeah, do you want to speak to her?"

_"Uh-huh."_

Will slides the phone across the table. "Your chick wants to chat, mama bird."

His mother sends him a reproachful look, but it's diminished slightly by the bright rein on her face. "Clint? Baby?" she says into the receiver.

Will can't hear Clint's side of the conversation, but he can imagine it. Everyone thinks Clint is the rebellious one, but he's always been a bit of a suck-up when it comes to their parents. Always so polite and caring and sickeningly cute when mum or dad are around. It always irritated Will. He even resented their parents for a while during their teenage years because Clint always acted so in-Clint like in their presence and he thought it was their fault Clint felt like he couldn't be Clint. Of course, he later learnt that wasn't the case at all, that his brother was just a manipulative bastard who was extremely talented at getting what he wanted.

He tunes back into his mother's conversation in time to hear; "Of course, dear, you know I will."

Clint says something else, then their mother is saying goodbye and passing the phone back to Will. "Coulson was telling him to get off the phone, but he just wants to say goodbye to you," she says.

"Coulson finally making you work for your pay?" Will says as soon as he can hear Clint's even breaths.

 _"Ha. Ha. One of us has to and you got yourself broken so I don't think it'll be you."_ Clint immediately retorts.

"I'm on paid leave."

_"Great, so you'll have enough money to buy me a birthday present."_

Will frown. "It's not your birthday."

 _"Then make it a 'sorry for scaring the shit out of you by almost dying again' present,"_ Clint says a little too quickly.

Will knows when to pick his battles, and this is not an argument he need to be having with his brother over the phone while it's still dark outside. "Okay," he agrees. "And when will I be able o give you this present?"

 _"Dammit, Barton! Hurry up!"_ Will hears Coulson yell.  _"Drug lords don't wait for you to finish chatting before they raid warehouses!"_

 _"I'm coming!"_ Clint yells back. _"Don't get your knickers in a twist Coulson!"_

Will snickers. Coulson is a man who deserves the highest respect for being able to deal with Clint. "I guess you better go then."

 _"Yeah."_ Clint sounds more than a little reluctant. _"I'll call you when I'm back Stateside, 'Kay?"_

Will smiles. "Yeah, that'd be good. Maybe we can catch up for a drink next time we're in the same state."

_"And you can tell me all about your latest near-death experience."_

"Only if you tell me exactly how you ended up in Budapest."

 _"It's a deal."_ Will can hear the smile in Clint's voice. _"See ya later little bro. Don't die."_

Will snorts. It's this kind of brotherly banter that he loves. "Only if you don’t."

There are no heartfelt goodbyes, no 'I miss you' or 'I love you', just the mechanical click as Clint hangs up. And Will is left staring at the background of his phone; he and Clint on a rainy day last fall when they'd decided that a picnic on the beach would be a fantastic idea. Admittedly, not one of their brightest ventures (and they'd both suffered the consequences of a day in the rain) but it had been fun at the time, and Will didn't regret a single thing about that memory (not even being bedridden with severe colds for days afterwards).

4:32. Will hadn't even noticed the time go as he'd talked to Clint. His brother always had that effect on him, and twenty odd years later he still can’t work out if it’s a good thing or a bad thing (though he’s leaning towards good).

"You two are going to get into trouble one day," his mother remarks. "If you keep sharing details of classified operations with each other."

Will just grins. She’s probably right (mothers usually are) but Clint’s recklessly uncaring attitude must be rubbing off on him because he finds that he really doesn’t care. There really is nothing like pesky twin brothers to make you want to break the law….

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far thanks for reading! If there's any particular scene you'd like to see between the troublesome Barton twins mention it in a comment and I'll do my best :)


End file.
